


Sleepless Nights

by zoldnoveny



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Insomnia, M/M, Night Terrors, Romance, matt is so in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 12:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldnoveny/pseuds/zoldnoveny
Summary: “If I don’t sleep I get dull. I need to be on top of my game.”“I don’t like the implications behind that.” Matt grumbled, tucking his face back against Mello’s neck.“You wouldn't.” Mello’s pointed chin was suddenly resting atop Matt’s head. “Imagine how much smarter you’d be if you slept.”





	Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> here is an entirely headcanon based thing I wrote at like 4am about Matt having insomnia :-)

Maybe, in the span of eighteenish years, Matt had slept one full night.   
  
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It had been more than once, but certainly not a lot. Nothing that he could remember, at least, and anything he didn’t know about didn’t count. Some nights, he would doze off for an hour or two, or drift away for a few minutes only to jolt back awake before it had the chance to be beneficial. Then he’d fall back asleep and the cycle would repeat. Ten minutes down, an hour up, ten minutes down, etcetera. Most times he could recall being asleep were at his computer, face down in his keyboard, or with his GameBoy still between his fingers. Searching for a time when he crawled into bed, laid his head on a pillow, and rested, was like looking for a needle in a haystack.   
  
Back at Wammy’s, he received medication for his predicament. He hated how those damned pills made him feel, and flushed them down the toilet, even as Mello protested that they could have sold them for extra cash.   
  
“No one wants to fall asleep, Mel, they wanna stay awake.” Matt had argued, watching the white capsules splash and sink into the water.   
  
When L was around, and that was rarely, Matt would catch him wandering around in the depths of night. He was the only other person awake, and the house was uncommonly quiet, save for his weight creaking against the floorboards. The first time Matt found him, he had drifted into the kitchen to get himself a drink. L was peeling seran wrap off a slice of cake from the previous night, owlish eyes gleaming in the dark, his face bathed in shadows.

 

“Bad dream?” He ventured.

 

“Gotta sleep to dream.” Matt shrugged.

 

L shared his cake with him at the dining room table. 

 

Matt cherished that memory, like it was something far more special than it really was. It was special to him, alright? L didn’t hang around just anyone.

 

Lots of years since had passed since then. Well, maybe not. Hasn’t been that long, which is almost weirder. It’s been enough time to look back at it with nostalgia, at least. 

 

In a new place - an apartment, in Los Angeles, Mello was walking into the living room. He’d just come from the hall, which lead to the bedroom, where he had been moments before. “Have you slept at all?” Was what he said to announce his presence to Matt. It was way too early to be considered morning yet, hanging somewhere in the balance between three and four am. The only light came from a lamp sitting off to the side, and the blue-white screen of Matt’s laptop.

 

Matt, on the couch, continued scrolling and clicking his way through the task at hand. The cigarette hanging limply from the corner of his mouth dropped ash on his jeans, and he cursed before briskly brushing it away. Looking over his shoulder, Mello was watching him with a raised eyebrow. 

 

“Nah,” He expelled a mouthful of smoke into the air. “Been working.” A few moments of silence ticked along. “Why are you up, man?”

 

Mello shrugged in a way that meant his uncertainty was fabricated. It was totally a fake shrug. However, before Matt could say anything about it, Mello was walking around to join him on the sofa. He sat close enough to be purposeful, but not obviously so. An elbow brushed against an elbow, a knee against a knee. Passably accidental, if Matt didn’t know any better. He spared a glance, finding Mello winsomely illuminated by sparse lamplight, stripes of gold painted neatly along the swells of his face. If Matt had been a poetic sort of guy, he could’ve come up with something pretty nice about all that. But he was shit at writing, so all he could think of was that Mello looked good. How the fuck do you spin that into some flowery and beautiful metaphor? It seemed pointless.  

 

“What’s up?” He asked again, because it had to be something.

 

“S’lame.” Mello rubbed at his eye, like a sleepy child. “I had a stupid bad dream.”   
  


When Mello left, that was when the whole sleeping thing was at its worst. Matt spent all his time searching for him, pouring through every hint he could get his hands on, digging for uncovered tracks, obsessing. Mello was way too smart to leave anything behind to clue Matt into where he had gone, but Matt relished in the distraction. If he was looking for him, he wouldn’t be forced to admit he was really gone. He barely slept before that, but then - he wouldn’t let himself. He couldn’t. As soon as his eyes drifted shut, Mello was blooming to life behind them. It was impossible.

 

Now, it was back to how it was before. A few hours every once and awhile, catnaps as brief as a blink of the eye. That was fine, because that was just the way it was. Matt didn’t dwell, not on anything. Mello, opposingly, resented his shortcomings, and tried to purge himself of them even if it was pretty damn clear that would never happen. He’d always be an overly emotional hothead, just like Matt would always be a hopeless insomniac (among other things.) The difference between them was that Matt didn’t bother feeling bad about it. Not to say it didn’t suck - because it did. But what are you gonna do?

 

“Couldn’t fall back asleep, figured I’d see what you’re fuckin’ around with, out here.” Mello was finishing saying. He peered over Matt’s shoulder to catch a glimpse at the screen, although Matt knew he didn’t really care. Mello could code pretty well, thanks to lessons back at Wammy’s, but he had far less patience for it than Matt.

 

“What was it about?” 

 

“Huh?” Mello arched an eyebrow, making a face that implied Matt was somehow an idiot for having a question.

 

“Your nightmare, genius. What happened?”

 

Settling back into the cushions, Mello propped his feet up on the table, inches away from knocking over a Red Bull can onto a heap of cords. Maybe it was Matt’s fault for having liquids so close to all his equipment, but Jesus. “Does it matter? L, I guess. That’s what it always is.”

 

Matt had nightmares. Night terrors. A lot of them. In fact, that’s what they said the root of his problem was. Well, sort of - the real origin of it all was his parents, and all the psychological damage they inflicted on him. They caused the nightmares in the first place, but that gets tedious. Anyway, sleep freaked him out so much, he became unable to do it. The possibility of falling into a bad dream struck him with stress that made true rest impossible. The thing about night terrors is that you don’t even remember them when you wake up - all you know is that you’re suddenly scared shitless. In Matt’s oh-so humble opinion, it was worse not knowing. It really blew, being unsure of what it was that left him with a thundering pulse and blood roaring in his ears, what caused the desire to cry and scream brew within him like a storm. What terrified him so badly?

 

Matt felt bad for thinking it, but at least Mello had an idea. 

 

“So, I take it you don’t wanna talk about it.” Matt guessed. 

 

“It’s dumb, anyways.” Mello sighed. “And it’s over now. But I’m up, so here I am.” His head tipped back to lean against the cushions, strokes of blonde fanning around him, smooth line of his neck suddenly visible. A solitary pale smear through the darkness.

 

The funny part was that Mello slept better than anyone. He was pretty bad at forcing himself awake, although he spent a lot of time doing so. Especially back at Wammy’s, where he’d make himself pull all-nighters by having Matt slap him in the face whenever he dozed off. That was fun. And now, working on the investigation, he lived religiously off caffeine. But without being disturbed, he could rest for hours. In fact, he was known to sleep past noon, sometimes. It just seemed like, to Matt, that Mello should be the one to be plagued by restlessness. He had so much to be restless over. Although, Matt obviously did, as well. He assumed.    
  
Once, when they were much younger, Mello got very sick. It was the flu, and it went on forever. When he wasn’t throwing up or complaining, he was sleeping. Matt camped out in the infirmary to play on his DS at his bedside, just because he was so worried about him. The term ‘watching someone sleep’ connotes creepiness, but it wasn’t like that. Matt was only monitoring his friend, making sure he was alright. He watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of pale eyelashes against pink cheeks, while Mello rumbled with small snores. He was very obviously alive, but peaceful in a way Matt did not see often. It was a peculiar thing.    
  
The first time they slept together, years later, Matt watched him drift off soon after. It was eerie how similar the two moments were - even if he was flushed from a tumble in the sheets instead of a bout of sickness, and the dampening sweat glistening across his skin was from physical exertion and not fever. 

 

Matt found a lot of comfort in that, somehow. It was nice to remember where they came from.    
  
Enough with the sappy stuff, though. Matt wasn’t big on that. He was about as good with dealing with his feelings as he was good at playing football, which was not very.   
  


“Well, thanks for the stellar company, Captain Sunshine.” Matt resumed bending over his computer. If Mello wanted to hang out with him out here, that was fine. Really, he was glad to have him there, not that he’d ever say something so cheesy without drenching it in sarcasm.

 

There were fingertips brushing up against the base of his spine, where his shirt had begun to ride up, just a smidge. “Matty,” Mello said, because he knew calling Matt that was a surefire way to send him into SYSTEM ERROR mode. “Don’t you get tired? Like, ever?”

 

Matt did not look back, because that would be how Mello won. “‘Course I do.” And it was true. Sometimes, Matt got so tired he wanted to claw his eyes out, or beat himself over the head until he was unconscious, or anything else equally brutal. It was miserable, and Matt hated being miserable. So he tried not to think about it.

 

Mello took hold of his shirt, and dragged him back. Usually, he was not the one to be discouraging getting work done, but this was clearly an extenuating circumstance. Matt let himself be pulled against the couch, flopping down next to Mello, who looked up at him with quiet blue eyes. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

“I thought you were up, now.” Matt said, flatly. 

 

“Don’t believe everything you hear. That’s how they get you.”   
  
“You’re being ominous as ever, I see.”

 

“Hey, at least I’m reliable.”

 

“Oh, that’s what they’re calling it these days?”

 

“Guess so. You’d better keep up with the times, or people will think you’re lame.”

 

“Uh huh? What people? You and the dustbunnies under the couch?”

 

“You’re only proving my point.”

 

“Which is what, exactly?”

 

“That you’re a loser.”

 

“You’re the one haging sex with me. What’s that make you?”

 

“Very, very charitable. A saint, some could say”

 

“Har, har.” 

 

At that, Mello leaned in to kiss him. The quickness they could go from swapping witty banter to swapping saliva these days gave Matt whiplash. It was crazy how effortless the transition was, too. As kids, affection was shown through wrestling matches and endless teasing, playing pranks and hurling insults. That was just how they were, two little boys stumbling blindly through friendship (and crushes, but that was a whole other thing.) The eternal aspect of their relationship being accompanied with new touches and kisses and Mello’s special  _ sexy eyes _ was hard to believe, sometimes.

 

Mello was very different, but he was also very much the same. Certainly, the aesthetics were the biggest change. Part of the reason - now, this is just a theory - is that Mello was trying to kill himself. No, not like  _ that.  _ His old self, his childhood self. The young boy with big blue eyes and round, rosy cheeks, blond hair cut like a choir boy’s; the picture of innocence, the sweet little cherub. Although that was totally skin deep - he was a fucking hellion. Either way, he felt like he needed to dress himself in leather and chains to be someone new.   
  
Mello never really changed. This was another theory, bare with it, but Matt thought Mello wasn’t built for change. He was surprisingly consistent for someone so unpredictable. He would always be Mello. L’s death and a gun at his hip and tight pants wouldn’t change that, nor would him kissing Matt.

 

“Come to bed.” He said, yet another time, as he pulled away, hand lingering at Matt’s jaw.  

 

“It’s okay, Mel, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I know you just want me there so I can protect you from your bad dreams.”   
  


About a month into living at Wammy’s, Matt really slept for the first time. It didn’t last very long before he woke up with a jolt, his heart racing and something foreign yet familiar buzzing beneath his skin. With horror, he realized that he had screamed. He couldn’t have been more than six, but was still embarrassed. Mello stared at him from his bed with wide, shocked eyes. 

 

“You woke me up.” He said. 

 

“Sorry.” Matt said back.

 

Then, Mello had padded over and crawled into bed with him, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He told Matt that bad dreams sucked, but they sucked less when someone was there with you. As much as Mello liked to make a show of being Big and Tough - even (and especially) at six years old, he was thoughtful. Kind, even, if he let you see it. Matt wondered what it was about himself that made Mello so willing to show him. 

 

“Don’t be a stubborn ass.” Mello pinched his cheek, sharp enough to sting, and yanked Matt back into the present. “Would you come on? You’re pissing me off.”   
  
Matt made a point of rolling his eyes. Hey, who said Mello could be the only one pulling dramatics? “Yes, Master.”

 

“Good boy,” Mello patted his cheek, once again not caring if it hurt. Matt winced, just to show Mello how pained he was. However, Mello was already climbing over the arm of the couch, not paying attention. 

 

Matt watched him trot away, admiring the taper of his waist and the pair of dimples nestled at the base of his spine - he never slept in a shirt, because that was the sort of guy he was - before pulling himself upright. He followed Mello into the bedroom, walking silently on socked feet. Mello always walked so damn loud - stomping around like he was a foot taller than he was. Which was funny, because he was shorter one of the two of them. 

 

“Would you change out of your fucking jeans?” He quipped, once he was settling back against the mattress.

 

Matt glanced down at himself, and the aforementioned jeans. “What?”

 

“Only psychopaths sleep in jeans.” Mello told him, as if it were some proven fact.

 

“Dude, I think you just wanna see me in my tighty whities.” Matt waggled his eyebrows, already undoing his belt.

 

“I don’t think Pac Man boxers count as tighty whities.”

 

“Actually, I’m wearing the Triforce ones, right now.”

 

Mello looked at him for a long time, with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, “You’re a fucking dork.” 

 

While stripping himself from his pants, Matt chuckled. He really couldn’t dispute that. 

 

He joined Mello in bed moments after, collapsing against him just to be an ass. With a wheezing laugh, Mello threaded his arms around Matt’s shoulders, as Matt nestled against his neck. He smelled like fruity shampoo, and a bit like lingering leather and cologne. Fingers smoothed through Matt’s hair, catching in the tangles, curling through the thick waves. Matt let his eyes drift shut, almost like he was going to fall asleep. He thought about what he’d said to Mello - that he wanted Matt to chase away his nightmares - and wondered if such a thing was possible. 

 

“I keep seeing him die.”

 

“Hm?” Matt glanced up, taken aback.

 

Mello did not meet his eyes. “In my dreams. I see L dying. I know Kira got him, but it’s always a fuckin’ gunshot or stabbing or some brutal shit. And I see his face, and he looks so much like… like fuckin’  _ Near _ , with his big bug eyes. It’s creepy.”

 

“Mel…” Matt’s brow crinkled, and he thought to strip off his goggles, casting them aside. “Jesus, Man.”

 

“Whatever.” Mello laid a palm over the crown of Matt’s skull. “What am I gonna do about it? Just stop sleeping?”

 

...Well.

 

“If I don’t sleep I get dull. I need to be on top of my game.”

 

“I don’t like the implications behind that.” Matt grumbled, tucking his face back against Mello’s neck.

 

“You wouldn't.” Mello’s pointed chin was suddenly resting atop Matt’s head. “Imagine how much smarter you’d be if you slept.”

 

“Hey!”

 

Mello sniggered.

 

“You know, L never slept.”   


  
“Oh, yeah? Says who?”

 

“Dude,” Matt rolled over onto his back, so he was no longer laying on Mello and was instead at his side. “Whenever he was at the House, he was always up when I was. I went downstairs to find him all the time. It was sweet, sometimes he’d play Pokemon with me.”

 

With a minute shift, Mello was looking at him. Something swam in his eyes, like deep, churning water. Choppy waves during a storm. Almost impregnable, incomprehensible.

 

Grief is very strange. Psychologically, academically, it’s easy to understand. A phase of five stages, one after the other, straight out of a textbook. Something to be written on flashcards and memorized. A natural reaction to a natural  circumstance. However, since Matt had experienced it for himself, for real, it felt a lot more complicated. Muddled. Intangible. Missing L was like a yawning hole in his gut, swallowing down bits and pieces of himself when he wasn’t paying attention. Always there, oppressive, yet somehow easy to ignore. When Mello looked at him with those sad eyes, Matt felt it. The emptiness.  _ Why did you leave us? _ He wondered.  _ We’re nothing without you, aren’t we? You were supposed to show us the way. I never cared about being your successor but I always cared about you. I want to play Pokémon with you when I can’t sleep. I want you to be there. _

 

“I’m tired.” Mello’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. He kissed Matt again, a gentle yet quick press of lips, brief as a wink. 

 

“I know.” Matt whispered in return. Because those words had a lot hidden behind them.

 

It didn’t take long for Mello to fall back asleep, after that. He made it look so easy that Matt could almost laugh. He didn’t, though, and instead just appreciated the moment. Reached out to brush hair away from his forehead, traced a thumb over the jut where his forehead smoothed into browbone, sharp and dramatic. Warm, light breath fanned against the inside of Matt’s palm, as his hand fell to caress Mello’s cheek. Like something out of a stupid Rom-Com. But it wasn’t stupid when it was real. This was it. This was his guy.

 

So maybe Matt didn’t sleep. Big whoop. Mello did, and someone needed to watch over him and make sure he didn’t have bad dreams, right?

 

Sometimes, that was enough.


End file.
